


Goaltender Interference

by AuthorToBeNamedLater



Series: Keeping Up With The Raptors [10]
Category: No Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Hockey, Alternate Universe - Sports, Detroit Red Wings, Divorce, Dysfunctional Family, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family, Family Drama, Gen, Hockey, Hurt/Comfort, Prayer, Raptors, Seattle, Spiritual, Sports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-18
Updated: 2013-06-21
Packaged: 2017-12-15 09:39:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/848036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuthorToBeNamedLater/pseuds/AuthorToBeNamedLater
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stopping pucks is easy. Stopping your ex-wife from taking your kids from you is hard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even if you don't know hockey, you can probably surmise the definition of goaltender interference. But here's a definition, if you are so inclined as to read it: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Goaltender_interference

_**January 2012** _

William LaJeunesse knocked perfunctorily on the dressing room door at Rand Morgan Arena before entering and asking quite bluntly, “Is Sandy here?”

  
The Raptors on hand, some in street clothes, some in full hockey gear and some in between, glanced at each other, then back at their coach with headshakes and shrugs.

  
“Has anyone seen him?” LaJeunesse asked. “Talked to him, anything?”

  
The team responded with blank looks and more shaking heads.

  
The dressing room door opened. “Team meeting or something?” Hank Sheridan asked.

  
LaJeunesse turned to the team captain. “You talked to Sandy, Hank?”

  
Hank, not even having cleared the doorframe yet, shook his head. “Not since we got back last night.” The team had just returned from a road swing to Dallas, Phoenix and Los Angeles.

  
“All of you check your phones,” LaJeunesse ordered. “See if you have a missed call or something.”

  
A murmur of worry swept over the room as each Raptor looked for his phone.

  
“Coach.” Hank shut the door and stepped next to LaJeunesse. “What’s going on?”

  
“I’ve been trying to get in touch with Sandy all morning and now he’s not here,” LaJeunesse said quietly enough so nobody else could hear.

  
“I don’t have anything,” Gunnar Norgaard piped up.

  
“I don’t either,” someone else said. The ensuing mutterings indicated that nobody had any communication from Sandy Garneau.

  
“You tried the house? Nancy?” Hank asked.

  
LaJeunesse nodded. “No answer.”

  
Hank nodded slowly. “Let me try him.”

  
LaJeunesse waited silently while Hank held the phone to his ear. “It went right to voicemail,” Hank reported a moment later. “His phone’s not even on.”

  
LaJeunesse’s jaw clenched. Several scenarios began running through his head, none of them good. Garneau could be a little bit of a loose cannon, but it was completely unlike him to go radio silent and not show up for practice.

  
Hank’s brow knotted in concern as he stared at his phone. “I’m, uh, I’m gonna go see what’s up.” He placed his hand on the doorknob and looked at LaJeunesse, belatedly asking permission.

LaJeunesse nodded. “Go. Call me or Pat when you find something.”

  
Hank nodded in agreement and left the dressing room.

  
“The rest of you, get moving,” LaJeunesse said brusquely. “10 minutes. Let’s go.”

  
The team resumed getting ready.

  
“What do you think it is?” Andor Ronningen joined his coach by the door.

  
LaJeunesse shook his head. “I don’t know.” But he did know his team captain’s intuition was like a laser beam. If Hank Sheridan thought something was amiss, chances were very good he was right.

.

.

.

Hank pulled his car into the Garneaus’ driveway. Sandy’s BMW was parked, Nancy’s SUV nowhere in sight.

  
 _Could be in the garage,_ Hank thought as he got out. But he wasn’t even sure he believed himself. Before hitting the road, Hank had sent a group text to all the Raptors who hadn't been in the practice arena when he left. By now they'd all responded and not one of them had heard from their goalie.

  
Hank knocked on the door to Sandy and Nancy’s pale blue contemporary. When he didn’t hear an answer, or even a stirring in the house, he rang the doorbell.

  
Still nothing.

  
 _I don’t like this._ Hank tentatively tried the doorknob. It wasn’t locked, and Hank’s heart rate jumped a little.

  
“Sandy?” Hank stepped into the house and pulled the door closed. Nothing looked out of place. Nobody would guess two preteen children lived there. _I guess that’s what you get when you marry an interior designer._ Hank had always thought that a little strange. A house with children in it shouldn't be this tidy.

  
Hank climbed the stairs out of the mudroom and turned left toward the living room, all senses on high alert. “Sandy? Nancy? Anyone here?”

  
Hank wrinkled his nose. He smelled something. _Alcohol. Bourbon._ He turned his head toward the kitchen.

  
“Sandy!”

.

.

.

“Sandy!”

  
 _Hank._ Sandy knew he should at least acknowledge Hank’s presence. Maybe even pick his head up off the kitchen table. But he just couldn’t get the proper signals to his body. He'd been here since getting home at 2:30am expecting to find his family and instead finding...

  
“Sandy. Sandy.” Sandy heard Hank run into the kitchen and felt hands on his shoulders. “Sandy. Are you awake?” One hand moved to his head, clearing the light brown hair from his eyes. “Hey, you in there?”

  
The goaltender squinted his eyes shut against the light. _Shit. This is gonna be a hangover for the ages._

_What do you expect, Einstein, you just drank an entire bottle of Beam._

  
“What happened?” Hank’s voice was taut with worry. “Where are Nancy and the girls? Did something happen to them?”

  
Still not up to intelligent speech, Sandy reached one hand out past the nearly-empty bottle of Jim Beam and slid two papers toward Hank.

  
Sandy heard a rustle as Hank picked up the papers, silence, and then a sharp intake of breath. “Oh, Sandy."

  
Sandy finally found the strength to look up. “Nancy’s gone, Hank,” he said roughly. “She took Julianna and Emily, left me the divorce papers, and she’s gone.”

.

.

.

LaJeunesse stood behind the boards watching Gunnar knock away one-timers when Pat walked up to him.

“I just talked to Hank,” Pat said.

“Yeah?” LaJeunesse didn't look away from practice. Tim Keller got a shot past Gunnar's stick side. He gave the goalie a hard time about what a softy it was. Gunnar slapped the puck back to him.

“Nancy left.”

Now LaJeunesse looked away. “What?”

“That's what Hank said. I guess while we were on the trip she took the kids and moved to Vancouver.”

LaJeunesse's jaw dropped. He'd always thought Nancy Garneau was a piece of work. He couldn't exactly put a finger on it, but the woman had a screw loose.

“Hank says he found Sandy half passed out on the kitchen table seeking the advice of Jim Beam,” Pat said.

“Shit,” LaJeunesse breathed. “Hank still with him?”

“Of course he is.”

Vince began barking something at Joel Francoeur and LaJeunesse looked back to the ice. But for a long time he just stared without really knowing what was going on.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hasn't Sandy suffered enough?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Darren Helm and Kyle Quincey are real. It was just easier to look up Red Wings players than to make up my own!
> 
> I used Google Translate on the French here, so apologies if it is not correct Quebecois French or even correct French at all. If anyone wants to correct me I will make edits.

****

_**November 2013**_

“ _No...no,_ vous _m'écoutez!”_

Andor Ronningen stopped in his tracks as he headed across Boeing Arena's parking lot following morning skate. The big Norwegian was hardly fluent in French, but after spending better than half his life in the NHL he had picked up enough to eavesdrop. And even if he hadn't, Andor could easily tell that Sandy Garneau was most unhappy with whoever was on the other end of the phone.

Sandy was standing outside his car, obviously irritated, cell phone pressed to his ear. Even with his back turned, Andor could see the tension in every inch of the netminder’s body.

“ _Avez-vous même pensé à me consulter sur cette première?”_ Sandy railed.

_“Did you think”... consult?” Consult me first?_ Andor translated in his head. _Either Nancy or his agent._

“ _Ne pas 'Alexandre' me, Nancy ,”_ Sandy gritted.

_So it is Nancy._

_''Oh, et avez-vous déjà pensé à ce qui est le mieux pour moi dans cette situation ?''_ Sandy spat.

_Did you think...situation..._

_"Ou est-ce que vous avez pris fin lorsque Em et Jules et m'a laissé les papiers du divorce?"_

“ _Em”... “Jules”... The kids...“Divorce papers”..._

_"Qu'en est-il des filles? Avez-vous leur demandez comment ils se sentaient ou avez-vous juste annoncer que vous allez les déraciner à Toronto? "_

“ _Girls”...“announce”...“Toronto?”_

_''Donc, je ne comprends pas un mot à dire dans ce domaine, je viens d'obtenir pour vous garder envoyant une pension alimentaire? Vous savez, ils disent que les mères sont les parents les plus capables, mais vous êtes sûr -_

Sandy turned to rest his forearms on his car roof and Andor felt like a kid with his hand in the cookie jar.  
Sandy locked eyes with his teammate.

_"Nancy, je dois y aller. Nous parlerons de cela plus tard. "_

He hung up the phone.

  
Andor stayed where he was. Dealing with an irked Sandy Garneau was not unlike handling a dropped Coca-Cola bottle: Let it settle before opening and everything was fine, but pop the cap too soon and you had a great big mess on your hands.

  
“I suppose you heard that,” Sandy muttered.

Andor walked to the car and folded his arms on top of the roof, mirroring Sandy’s posture and keeping two tons of steel between them. “My French isn't that great, but yes.”

  
Sandy looked down at the white roof. “Nancy wants to take Emily and Julianna back to Toronto.”

Andor blinked. This woman was something else. “That's it? She's just leaving?”

“She did it before,” Sandy said bitterly. "After school lets out, she's gone."

“There's nothing you can do?” Andor asked.

“Short of another legal mess, no.”

  
_Unbelievable._ “Sandy, I…”

  
“Don’t tell me you’re sorry,” Sandy cut him off.

  
“Will you be able to play tonight?” Andor asked

  
Sandy nodded. “Yeah. Yeah. I’ll be fine.”

_._

_._

_._

_I’ll be fine. I’ll be swell. I’ll be great._ Sandy thought as the Raptors and Red Wings took the ice for the national anthem.

  
Professional athletes were masters at compartmentalization. Whatever was happening off the ice or field didn’t matter once the game started. It might sound cold to the outside observer, but it was the only way to survive in the high-pressured world of professional sports.

  
Or at least, that was how it should be. Inject an athlete with sodium penthahol and he'd tell you that no one was as good at compartmentalizing as he liked to think. Sandy had failed at it last year, when injury and divorce had derailed his game and possibly also the Raptors’ chances at a Stanley Cup victory. And now he was doing it again. Sandy couldn’t get the idea of losing Emily and Julianna out of his head.

  
_Forget it. Just forget about it._ Sandy was vaguely aware of “The Star-Spangled Banner” reaching its crescendo. _Put it out of your head until after the game. Nothing’s going to change in three hours._

_Oh sure, just forget them._ Some other voice in Sandy’s head responded. _Forget them, Sandy! They’re only_ your children. _Yeah, good plan. Just forget them. Way to go for the Father of the Year award._

Applause from the arena broke into Sandy’s thoughts and he numbly clanked his stick off the pipes, slid backwards into the crease, and took a deep breath. _Game time. Focus, goaltender. Focus._

_._

_._

_._

From the moment the puck dropped, something was not right.

  
LaJeunesse found his eye constantly drawn to his team’s net. Sandy looked…off. The way he’d looked when going through his divorce last year. Sandy's goaltending style always tended toward the leaping, sprawling, roaming side of things, and to the untrained eye he could look sloppy. But tonight he looked sloppy to the trained eye.

  
The referee blew the whistle for an icing call on Seattle, and LaJeunesse took the opportunity to speak with Hank. “Is anything wrong with Sandy?” LaJeunesse asked, leaning down so Hank could hear him over the noise.

Hank shook his head. “Don’t think so.” He looked up at his coach. “Do you think something’s wrong with him?”  
“He just seems a little distracted.”

“He hasn’t said anything to me,” Hank reported.

The Raptors gathered for a face-off in their own zone. “You and I both know what that means,” LaJeunesse said.

“Nothing,” Hank answered.

.

.

.

As the clock ticked toward 10 minutes in the first, Greger Borgstrom sent the puck behind the Raptors’ net intending it for his defense partner Ken Davidson, but the Red Wings’ Darren Helm grabbed it instead and fired it back to the point for his defenseman. Kyle Quincey took a shot. Josh Bernier deflected it and tried to clear, but Helm kept it in. Quincey's next shot sailed through all the bodies in Seattle's end, including Sandy Garneau's, and right into the back of the net.

  
_Crap._

_._

_._

_._

_All right, that sucked._ Sandy stood and repositioned himself between the pipes. _No problem. Stop the next one._

But not thirty seconds later Sandy found himself sprawled out across the crease while Helm's wrister ate him alive.

_Now this_ really _sucks._

.

.

. “Second goal in three minutes for Detroit, and Darren Helm collects his first goal and second point of the night,” Wheeler reported.

  
“This is not characteristic of Sandy Garneau,” Obenshain added, watching Garneau angrily smack the ice as he stood up. “Watch this replay.” The monitor pulled up the slow motion. “Garneau's watching over to his right and—watch right here—he thinks Helm's coming in on his right and then Helm goes for the opposite side.”

.

.

.

“He’s cracking up,” LaJeunesse muttered to himself. Sandy didn't seem to be favoring anything like he was hurt. He looked like he couldn't keep up with the game, like the kid in elementary school gym class who took an extra five seconds to know what was going on in a kickball game. Of course the Raptors had spent most of the last three minutes trying in vain to get the puck into Detroit's end.

  
_All right, that’s it,_ LaJeunesse decided as his goalie dropped into a butterfly, too late to stop the puck from shooting into the Raptors’ net for the third time. “Gunnar, go save us from ourselves,” the coach instructed his backup.

Gunnar shed his ball cap, put on his mask and gloves, and headed out  
  
---  
  
 

.

.

“And that looks like the night for Sandy Garneau,” Wheeler broke in as LaJeunesse waved his starter to the bench. “William LaJeunesse is sending Gunnar Norgaard in to settle things down.”

 

Gunnar tried to give Sandy an encouraging back pat as the two exchanged positions, but Sandy couldn't get down the tunnel fast enough.

.

.

.

In the Raptors' dressing room, Sandy sat with his head in his hands and tried to quell his rising temper.

  
 _It’s happening again. I can’t believe it. She’s doing it to me again._

.

.

.

The Red Wings ended up with a 3-1 victory, the Raptors' lone goal coming with two minutes left in the third. As soon as all post-game responsibilities were taken care of, Hank set about tracking down Sandy, who had given the obligatory interviews and immediately disappeared. He'd left his equipment bag in the dressing room so Hank knew the netminder had to be in the arena somewhere.

“Hank!” Andor called. “Wait. Where are you going?”

“Sandy.” Hank explained without slowing down. He turned right around the corner.

“Hold it.” Andor jogged to catch up and grabbed Hank's arm to stop him. “Before you go find him there's something you need to know.”

.

.

.

Sandy sat on the floor in the quiet room, knees bent up in front of him, hands clasped in his lap, head tilted back against the wall, eyes closed. The quiet room was reserved for players who suffered head injuries during a game, but Sandy had just needed someplace to cool down before he drove a motorized vehicle within sighting distance of innocent civilians.

Except it wasn't working. The room might be quiet, but Sandy's mind was louder than Boeing Arena during the playoffs. _Goal. Fell down. Bad night. Nancy. Got pulled. Toronto. Lost the game. Emily. Julianna._  
The door opened and Sandy groaned internally.

“Sandy.” It was Hank, and Sandy almost groaned externally. Hank was the last person the Raptors' goalie wanted to see right now.

  
“Go away, Hank,” Sandy said without opening his eyes.

  
Of course Hank didn't listen. Sandy heard him step into the room.

“I mean it,” Sandy growled.

“I've seen you have bad games before,” Hank said softly. “The last time I saw you leave your equipment bag in the room and hole up in here was the day after Nancy left.”

  
Sandy felt like a pot about to boil. He counted backwards from 10 and when his heart rate had slowed a little, opened his eyes. He found Hank crouching next to him.

“You know, don't you,” Sandy said. It wasn't a question.

“Ronny told me,” Hank said simply.

Sandy huffed a sigh and looked at the ceiling. “Good God, is nothing private around here?”

“I was looking for you,” Hank explained. “Ronny thought maybe I should know before I found you.”

Sandy swallowed roughly. “I'll never see them, Hank. Toronto? We go there once every two years. Vancouver's bad enough.”

“Can you sue for a change of custody arrangement?”

“I could,” Sandy said wearily. “But we just went through divorce court. I gave her sole custody, I went along with everything she wanted so the whole thing could be as easy as possible. And now I get this.” He looked at his knees. The idea of going through another legal battle felt like returning to flat ground after climbing Mt. Everest, only to discover he had to climb again. “It would be ugly for the girls to go through that again.”

“It would be ugly for them to grow up without their father, too,” Hank pointed out gently.

Sandy nodded.

  
“Is there anything I can do?” Hank asked. “Anything the team can do?”

  
Sandy turned his watering eyes on Hank. “Can you pray for me?”

  
“Of course I can.” The team captain waved Sandy closer to him. “Come here.”

  
“Right now?” Sandy asked with mild surprise.

  
“Why not?”

  
“Um…” Sandy looked around the room. He'd never prayed before. He didn't know how. “Do I have to kneel or something?”

  
“If you want to."

  
Somewhat awkwardly, Sandy got onto his knees beside Hank and folded his hands. Wasn't that how it worked? He was supposed to fold his hands?

  
“Heavenly Father,” Hank placed his hand between Sandy's shoulder “Please don’t let Sandy lose his children.”

Sandy unclasped his hands and brought them to his face. _Oh, God..._

“Give him the strength to do whatever he can for them. Open Nancy’s mind and help her to be receptive to him.”

Sandy's self-control wore out and he started to cry. He felt Hank lean over and embrace him from behind.

“You know how much Sandy loves Emily and Julianna, and You know that they are precious to him. Please, please don’t let him lose those two little girls. Amen.”

  
“Hank, they're my children,” Sandy sobbed into his hands. “My children. They're my little girls. I can't live without them. I can't. I can't.”

.

.

.

Hank rubbed his hands up and down Sandy's arms, feeling the other player's body quake. “I know. And God knows.”

  
 _You do know, Lord._ Hank turned his gaze heavenward. _Oh, Jesus. Hasn’t Sandy suffered enough?_


	3. Chapter 3

Nancy Desjardins was a high-maintenance woman and it showed. The perfectly styled hair, impeccable makeup, and carefully chosen clothing all spoke to someone who made herself a priority.

And everyone, even Nancy in her most honest moments, would say that was a large part of why she was no longer Nancy Garneau.

Nancy pulled her Toyota Highlander into the driveway at her home outside of Vancouver and stopped dead. Her ex-husband's car was in the driveway, and its owner was sitting on her steps.

Nancy didn't even try to hide her displeasure. She stopped the car, tossed her light-brown-with-blond-highlights hair over her shoulder, and stormed up the steps as best she could in her high heels. “What the fuck are you doing here, Sandy?”

Sandy raised his eyebrows, infuriatingly nonplussed by her outburst. “You kiss our children with that mouth?”

“What are you doing here?” Nancy repeated, leaving the expletive out this time, though she knew Sandy had probably uttered it many times within earshot of their daughters. “How did you even know when I was coming home? How long have you been here?”

“OK. We can do this in English.” Sandy stood up. “I'd like to talk to you about taking the kids to Toronto.”

Nancy rolled her eyes. “We've been over this.”

“No, we haven't. You've told me that you plan to trek them across Canada once school lets out. That's hardly going over it.”

Nancy crossed her arms. “Well, that's what I'm doing. I've never liked it out here, Sandy. You know that. My parents are out there, my--”

“You know what I have not heard one word about yet?” Sandy asked. “Julianna or Emily.

Nancy blinked. “What do you mean?”

“Our children. You know, those two little bundles of joy you liked to blame me for? What about them? And while we're at it, what about me?”

“What about you, Sandy?”

“Do you think I care about our kids, Nancy?”

“Of course you do.”

“You sure? Because you didn't seem to think I'd have any problem with them being 2500 miles away.”

Nancy crossed her arms tighter. Sandy was right, and she hated it, but she wasn't going to let him know. “A lot of fathers have to be far away from their kids. That's what happens in a divorce. If you didn't want this to happen maybe you could have cared a little more when we were married.”

“You're not going there,” Sandy said firmly. “I came here to have a discussion about our kids, not play the blame game.”

“Fair enough,” Nancy conceded. “But it's still what happens.”

“Do I _have_ to be away from my children?” Sandy challenged. “Or are you choosing that?”

“So go to the Maple Leafs,” Nancy retorted.

Sandy rolled his eyes. “It's not that easy. You know that. Have you asked the girls if they want to go?”

Nancy hadn't asked, but wasn't going to admit it. “Of course I have. They're fine with it.”

“Are they really fine with it or are they playing along because they know you're going no matter what?”

That stung. Sandy was right, again. Nancy had told Julianna and Emily what was going to happen. She had very little idea how they really felt about it.

“Nancy.” Sandy stepped forward and put his hands on her shoulders. She stepped back like she'd been burned.

“Please,” Sandy all but begged. “I love Julianna and Emily. I may not...I know I don't always express it very well, but I love them. I need them. When they're with me...it's the only time that I feel alive anymore.

“I gave you everything you wanted in the divorce,” Sandy went on. “I wanted to make it as easy on you and the girls as possible. But if you go through with this, I'm gonna sue for a change of custody.”

Nancy's eyes narrowed. “You wouldn't.”

“I will.”

“You would put our children through court again?”

“You would take them away from me again.”

Once again Nancy found herself at a loss for words.

“Jesus, Nancy.” Sandy stepped back and ran a hand through his hair. “Give me something here.”

“I need to think about this, Sandy,” Nancy said.

Sandy slumped forward. “Oh, don't do this to me.”

“I'm bringing the girls down this weekend, right?” Nancy said. “How about if we talk when I pick them up?”

Sandy nodded. “OK. OK.” He walked down the stairs to his car. When he reached the driver's side he turned around. “Could you not tell the girls I was here? I'd prefer they not know we're fighting over them again.”

Nancy nodded. She stayed rooted to the ground long after Sandy's car had disappeared down the street.   
  
   
  
.

.

.

“Jules? Are you busy?”

11-year-old Julianna Garneau lay sprawled out on her bed, math homework in front of her. She looked up as her mother entered the room. “What is it?”

Her mom sat down on the edge of the bed. “Do you want to go to Toronto, sweetie?”

Julianna shrugged and looked back at her book. “What do you care?”

“Julianna!” Her mom sounded dismayed. “Of course I care. Do you want to go?”

“What does it matter, Mom?” Julianna closed the book and rolled over on her back. “You didn't ask me and Em if we wanted to come here.”

Julianna thought her mom would cry when she spoke again. “Well, I'm asking you now: Do you want to move to Toronto?”

Julianna shrugged. “Whatever.” She rolled back onto her stomach. “Do whatever you want. You and Dad don't care what I want anyway or you'd still be together.”

.

.

.

Nancy stumbled across the hall into her own room and fell to her knees.

“ _Do whatever you want. You and Dad don't care what I want anyway or you'd still be together.”_

_Oh, God, what have I done? What am I doing?_

_._

_._

_._

 

_"I’ve seen it in the lightning, heard it in the thunder,_

_And felt it in the rain;_

_My Lord is near me all the time,_

_My Lord is near me all the--"_  
  
---  
  
 

The piano music from the living room stopped. “B flat, Donna,” Ashley corrected her older sister.

Katie exited the laundry room with a basket of freshly dried children's clothes in her arms. Her two eldest were practicing for special music in church on Sunday.

“You be flat,” Donna retorted.

Without looking up from the piano, Ashley thumped Donna in the chest. Donna retaliated with a cuff across the head. Katie was fairly sure they'd picked up that behavior from observing hockey players their entire lives.

“Mom. Your phone.”

Katie took the ringing phone from her nine-year-old's hand. “Thank you, Timmy.” She looked at the screen and frowned. _Who's calling me from Vancouver?_ She answered the phone. “Hello?”

“ _Hi...Katie?”_

The voice was familiar, but Katie couldn't place it. “Yes.”

“ _It's, um, it's Nancy. Nancy Desjardins.”_

It took Katie a moment to realize that Nancy Desjardins used to be Nancy Garneau. “Hi, Nancy,” Katie greeted. She and Nancy had never been overly friendly. In fact, Nancy had kept something of a distance from all the Raptors' wives. From the moment the Garneaus arrived in Seattle Katie had suspected that marriage was in trouble.

“ _I know this sounds strange, but...are you free? I'm in Seattle. I just dropped the girls with Sandy.”_

It did in fact sound strange, but Katie was as free as a mother of six could be. “Sure. Do you want to come by the house?”

Hank emerged from downstairs carrying a power drill. Katie smiled her thanks for fixing whatever had been broken. Hank walked into the kitchen, kissed Katie's cheek, and spread his hands as if to ask who was on the phone.

“ _Yeah, I can be there in half an hour or so. Is that OK?”_

“ _Nancy,”_ Katie mouthed to her husband.

Hank made a confused face and Katie shrugged. “Yeah, half an hour's fine.”

“ _All right. I'll see you then.”_

“OK.” Katie hung up.

"Was that the former Nancy Garneau?" Hank asked.

"Yeah."

“What's she want?”

Katie shrugged again. “She wants to talk to me.” 

“About the situation with Sandy?”

“Probably. She'll be here in about half an hour.”

“I'll make the kids scarce.”

.

.

.

Forty minutes later, Katie sat at her kitchen table across from Nancy Desjardins. The other woman looked absolutely miserable.

“Nancy, what's going on?” Katie handed Nancy a cup of iced tea. She knew very well what was going on, but figured it best to not let on.

“I...” Nancy took a breath. “I've been looking at a job in Toronto.” She looked into her glass. “It's a really good job. And that's where I'm from. Where my family is.”

Katie nodded.

“So I planned to take the girls out there after the school year's over, if this all works out,” Nancy continued. “Sandy's not too happy.”

_I imagine,_ Katie thought, but kept it inside her head.

“Sandy drove all the way to Vancouver on Monday to tell me that if I go through with the move he'll sue for a change of custody arrangement.” Nancy looked like she couldn't believe Sandy would do such a thing.

“What did you expect him to do?” Katie asked, making sure there was no challenge in her tone.

“I don't know. Not that.”

“What would you do?” Katie asked. “If the situation were reversed, and Sandy had the kids, and he wanted to move them across the country, what would you do to make sure he didn't?”

“Anything,” Nancy answered immediately.

“Why should Sandy do anything less? They're his children too.”

“But he doesn't love them like I do.” 

“How do you mean?”

“Sandy never knows if Emily has a ballet recital or if Julianna's in an art show. He never remembered parent-teacher conferences or read the girls' report cards. He didn't know what they were doing! He just knew they lived in the house, and sometimes I was amazed at that.”

_There we have it._ “Nancy, if I pulled Hank up here right now and ask him where Nate has to be tomorrow, he'd have no idea.”

Nancy just stared.

“Sandy doesn't love Julianna and Emily _like_ you do,” Katie said. “But he still loves them. Do you understand what I'm saying?

“We mothers tend to view our children as extensions of ourselves, right?” Katie smiled, and waited for Nancy to return it before she continued. “Dads don't see it quite the same way. It's natural; even when you and Sandy were married he wasn't around the kids as much. Just because he doesn't know all the minutiae of their lives doesn't mean he doesn't care about them or love them just as much as you do.

“I see Sandy with those girls every time they're here. Do you know what I see?”

Nancy shook her head, tears shining in her eyes.

“He takes them to practice, and afterward he stays for a good two hours and plays with them. He gives them piggyback rides, teaches them how to skate or...” Katie laughed “or make a spectacular glove save. He lights up when they are around, Nancy. Trust me, he loves them with everything that is in him. It would kill him to lose them.”

Nancy covered her face with her hands. After a few minutes she dried her eyes, stood up, and smiled. “Thank you, Katie.”

Katie was still a little mystified as to why Nancy had called her, but decided not to ask. The two said their goodbyes and as soon as Nancy departed, the various other Sheridans spilled out of the basement and their bedrooms.

“Is all well?” Hank asked.

“Maybe.” Katie leaned her elbows on the table. “I have no idea why she called me. I don't even know how she had my number.”

Hank brushed Katie's hair behind her shoulder and kissed her temple. “Because she knows her ex-husband's team captain married a very wise woman.” He slid his arms around her from behind.

Katie smiled and leaned her head back onto Hank's chest.

_Dear God, thank You that our family is still together._

.

.

.

| 

“Dad?”

  
Sandy blinked his eyes open. “Huh…Em?”

  
“Daddy, can I have a snuggle?”

Something wasn't right about the nine-year-old's voice. As Sandy woke up, he realized she was crying. “Emily, what's wrong?”

  
“I don't want to go to Toronto.” Emily shook her head and started crying harder. “I don't, Daddy. I don't.”

“Oh, Emily, honey, come here.” Sandy sat up and gathered his youngest into his arms. “It's OK. It's OK. Oh, it's OK.”

“I don't want to leave you,” Emily sobbed. “I love you. I don't want to go.”

“Sh, shhhh,” Sandy whispered, trying to soothe Emily before she worked herself into a frenzy. “It's all right, sweetie. I'll talk to Mom when she comes to get you Sunday, OK?”

Emily burrowed into Sandy's lap and wound her arms around his neck. “I would miss you so much. I love you so much, Daddy. I love you.”

“Oh, baby, I know.” Sandy kissed his little girl's hair. “I know. I love you too.”

It didn't take long for Emily's tears to dry up. As soon as Sandy could tell she was asleep, he laid back on the bed and nestled her under his arm. For the next hour Sandy lay awake in bed, stroking Emily's hair and holding her like it was the last thing he'd ever do.

  
_God, I have never talked to You before. I’m not even sure if You’re real. I’m probably doing this all wrong, but God, do not take these kids from me. I can live without a lot of things. I can’t live without them._

.

.

.

Nancy pulled into the parking lot at the Raptors’ practice arena a little early to get Emily and Julianna. The parking lot was empty except for Sandy's car and two others.

Nancy got out of her SUV and walked in to Rand Morgan Arena. She opened the door and followed the hallway to the rink. Sounds of her daughters' laughter flitted down the hall, mixed with at least two men's voices. Nancy pushed the door open.

“ _Save_ by Garneau!” Mikey Palmer exulted from where he and Ugur Bozkurt stood at the edge of the ice, obviously playing broadcasters.

Nancy opened the door. Sandy was in front of the net in full goalie getup, Emily and Julianna were standing in front of him with tiny hockey sticks, giggling as they put shots on him.

Julianna tapped one under Sandy's legs and Nancy jumped when she heard an air horn.

“GOOOOOOOOAL!” Ugur  proclaimed, pumping his fists over his head.

“Wow, Boz, what a softy that was, eh?” Mikey said.

Sandy flipped up his mask and glared at his teammates. “You're not helping.”

While Sandy was distracted Emily put her puck in and Ugur let off the air horn again.

“Look at that! Another goal,” Ugur said. “So, Mikey, do you think we'll see Sandy Garneau again after this intermission?”

Sandy cleared the puck away and took his helmet off. “No, because Sandy Garneau has to return his children to their mother.”

Emily and Julianna let out a collective _“awwwww”_ of disappointment.

.

.

.

Sandy dragged his sleeve across his sweaty forehead and looked to his left. Nancy stood in the doorway.

_Here we go._ “All right, you girls gave me a workout.” He gave Emily and Julianna a playful shove toward the door. “I’m gonna get out of all this; meet me by the door.”He made his way off the ice. “Hey, keep these two busy while I change, OK?”

Mikey and Ugur nodded. “OK, ladies!” Mikey called, heading toward center ice.  
Sandy undressed and redressed as quickly as he could, his hands starting to shake. In five minutes, he could be looking for lawyers and staring down the barrel of another family court battle.

_Please God, no._

His phone chirped. It was a text from Nancy. _I'm outside the dressing room._

Sandy finished tying his sneakers, took a long, slow breath, and started into the hallway. Nancy was waiting outside the room.

“Hi, Nancy,” Sandy said quietly.

  
Nancy gave a weak smile in return. “I've been thinking about what you said,” she started, almost timidly. “And...” She bit her lip, looked down, and looked back up. “I really hurt you, didn't I, Sandy?”

“Yeah,” Sandy said bluntly.

“I've been thinking and...I really didn't ask the girls what they wanted. I didn't think about them, or you. I just thought about myself. And I shouldn't have. I was wrong.”

Sandy couldn't take it anymore. “Are you going or not?”

Nancy shook her head.

  
Overcome with gratitude and relief, Sandy grabbed his ex-wife in a crushing hug. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

Nancy twisted out of the embrace. “It wouldn't be right for me to take them away from you.”

Sandy was too relieved to pursue the point any further. “Let's get the girls.”

The parents walked back to the ice where Julianna and Emily had suckered Mikey and Ugur into a game of Miss Mary Mack.

“Where the hell is Sandy?” Ugur demanded.

“Language, Boz,” Mikey chided.

“Well, where is he?” Ugur looked at Emily. “Do you know any other games?”

“Miss American Beauty?” Emily offered.

“That sounds even worse,” Ugur groused. “Seriously, we're bad parents. Where are those two?”

Sandy and Nancy both chuckled. “Let's go rescue them,” Nancy said. “We have pretty good kids, don't we, Sandy?”

Sandy nodded. “We do. Guess we did that much right, eh?”

.

.

.

“It has been an offensive explosion for the Raptors here at the Boeing Arena tonight,” Obenshain commented as he looked at the score. Raptors 6, Panthers 1 halfway through the second period.

“The amazing thing is Florida has actually outshot Seattle,” Wheeler piped up. “But Sandy Garneau has let only one goal slip tonight, and it just bounced off his skate.”

  
“And he gets it done again!” Obenshain exclaimed as Garneau leapt across the crease to nab the puck in his glove. “Looks like Garneau’s got his game back, Seattle.”

.

.

.

As Hank glided around the Raptors’ net, he caught Sandy’s eye and offered a small smile. Through the goalie mask Hank caught a nod in return.  
And nothing more needed to be said.  
  
---  
  
   
  
 


End file.
